A True Story

He had a crush,
He did his best,
He painted paintings,
Wrote her verse,
But he was much
Too weird for her,
Who might have liked him

The years went by
Until he saw
Her once again
Just yesterday,
He didn’t recognize
Her now,
That part of life
Had gone away

But in a place
She always is,
A painting he gave her
She’ll see,
And so she still
Remembers him.
Now isn’t that
An irony?

(My wife told me this story yesterday. – Owen)

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